


Living for Living's Sake

by WizardWriting



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, James Potter & Lily Evans Potter Live, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-20 06:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30000771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardWriting/pseuds/WizardWriting
Summary: Worlds collide when Harry Potter and Hermione Granger assume Head Boy and Head Girl responsibilities at Hogwarts. And with their academic rivalry nearing its peak, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw vie for the much-coveted House Cup.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The following story is based off of The Muse of Apollo's prompt, retrieved from the Harmony & Co Prompt Blog via Tumblr:
> 
> Hermione hates Harry Potter with a passion. He's always bothering her, and he's always beating her out for the top spot at school, and ugh, he's just so annoying. She wants to punch him in the face. And kiss him. But mostly punch him in the face.
> 
> Based on the aforementioned prompt, it should go without saying that Living for Living's Sake is an AU-type of story, told from different perspectives, including, but not limited to, that of Harry and Hermione.

1

Hermione wasn't one for physical violence (labeling those that did participate in any kind of physical violence whatsoever as Neanderthals at best, idiots who hadn't a big enough brain to share between them), yet she'd happily make an exception for Harry _bloody_ Potter – a Neanderthal all by himself. Because as it stood, he was the bane of her existence…the monkey on her back…the thorn in her side, taxing her of the dwindling willpower she had had not to punch him in the face. Merlin knew she wanted to punch him in the face – really bad too. Why? Well, it was because he had been made Head Boy…when she had been made Head Girl. The git smiled like sunshine on the horizon when he had seen her in the Perfects' Carriage on the Hogwarts Express. Hermione, meanwhile, had accidentally set the morning's edition of the _Daily Prophet_ ablaze, singeing the hair of Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin Prefect.

"Don't tell me you're-,"

"Head Boy," he interrupted, his smile growing even wider than before. "Never really expected it, but I can't complain."

"And why's that?" Hermione asked, mentally cursing Dumbledore for having gone senile in his old age. ( _He was one hundred and sixteen, wasn't he? That's far too old an age to determine Head Boy and Head Girl responsibilities! For the love of Merlin, Harry_ bloody _Potter was the worst of the worst – equal to that of Draco Malfoy!_ )

"Because you're Head Girl," he shrugged.

"Please," and she made a point to scoff loudly, "I'll be sure to limit any communication that's needed between us."

"You hate me that much?"

"I don't hate you," she said, annoyed. "Insufferable is more like it." And as Hermione nodded her head at the Prefects that queued into the Prefects' Carriage, she continued, "Besides, you're setting a bad example."

"A bad example?" he repeated.

"Why haven't you changed?" she asked, gesturing to his grey T-shirt and blue jeans. (In doing so, she noticed that Harry's grey T-shirt was a little tight on him – namely due to his wide shoulders and biceps that were like their own mountain range – and she had no doubt that his jeans fitted his bum like a pillow fitted a person's head at night.)

"Because I don't fancy attracting the attention of Muggles at King's Cross," he said. "I'm surprised you do."

"Don't be ridiculous…a simple spell is all it takes."

"Mind teaching me?"

Hermione considered him, shrewdly at that (ignoring the cold glares Pansy Parkinson was giving her due to the singeing of her hair), and asked, "What're you playing at?"

"Nothing," he laughed, holding his hands up.

"So you really don't know?"

He shook his head.

"Later," she whispered to him, noticing that the Prefects had fallen silent, their eyes on Harry and Hermione, interested.

"Good enough," he said.

The Hogwarts Express then began to move, signaled by the whistle belting into the air like an operatic soprano. Such was Hermione's subpoena to begin the Prefects' Meeting, and begin she did. She went on and on and on, boring the other Prefects to tears. But it wasn't her fault the idiots had trouble paying attention: it was a matter of standard procedure, one that was done every year. Harry, trying to keep the Prefects' Meeting from being a lost cause, added in a little funny business here and there, something that frustrated Hermione, so much so that she nearly kicked him in the shins. Sure, she appreciated his input, but cracking jokes like a drunk inbred on hock and seltzer was taking things a little too far. Yet she shouldn't have been surprised, not really anyway.

The fact of the matter was that Harry and Hermione were academic rivals – the two very best students in their year. (Hell, they were the two very best students in all of Hogwarts.) Because of this, there was a bitter rivalry between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, the former Harry's House and the latter Hermione's House. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw even traded the House Cup back and forth like neither wanted to keep it for more than a year, with Harry earning the most House Points for Gryffindor and Hermione earning the most House Points for Ravenclaw. As it stood, Gryffindor won the House Cup three times while Ravenclaw won the House Cup three other times. Thus, Harry and Hermione's seventh year would be the tiebreaker, something Hermione dutifully reminded herself of over the summer holiday.

For all intents and purposes, Harry's proficiency in academia wasn't that much of a bombshell to her. After all, it was James and Lily Potter who defeated Voldemort when he attacked them at Godric's Hollow – of course, Dumbledore was a deciding factor when he arrived a short while later to help them out. What followed was a crusade Dumbledore, himself, led in destroying Voldemort's Horcruxes, something that was fulfilled by James and Lily, along with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Now, James was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (appointing Sirius as the Head of the Auror Office) and Lily was the Potions Mistress at Hogwarts (with Remus acting as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor). Nonetheless, it still irked her that Harry received eleven O.W.L.s compared to Hermione's ten (due to the fact that Harry opted to take Muggle Studies – though neither one of them chose to take Divination).

"Excited for classes?" Harry asked her when the Prefects' Meeting had ended, everyone having already vacated the Prefects' Carriage.

"Only for Ravenclaw the win the House Cup," she replied, sitting down.

"It'll be Gryffindor's for the taking, actually," he said.

"Please," she snorted ( _Bugger those who thought that it was unladylike to snort! If she wanted to snort, then for the love of Merlin, she'd snort!_ ), "the only points you'll be getting is for Quidditch."

"Noticed me, have you?"

"Don't flatter yourself…you have a very large following of concussed trolls. What they see in you is anyone's guess."

"I suppose it's for the eleven O.W.L.s," and he sat down across from her, his shoes nearly touching hers.

"Anyone ever told you it's bad-mannered to gloat?"

"No," he shook his head, "the very large following of concussed trolls hasn't said anything about it."

Hermione laughed, something she tried (and failed) to suppress. She couldn't let Harry know she found him funny – even though she occasionally did.

"If I'd taken Muggle Studies, we would've been tied for O.W.L.s," Hermione told him.

"But you didn't," he pointed out, "which makes me the clear winner there."

"And your ego goes even higher," she said, raising her eyebrows as if to show him just how high his ego had gone. "It's terribly unattractive."

"What is?"

"Your ego," she responded. "I'm surprised you haven't floated away yet with how big your head is."

"Believe it or not, I don't often gloat."

"That's news to me," she murmured.

"You know why?" he asked.

"I assume you're going to tell me anyway," and she dug around in her bag, pulling out her copy of _Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts_.

"Because no one's really worth it," he said.

"Then why do you do it to me?"

Rubbing the back of his neck, he actually had the audacity to look a little embarrassed as he replied with, "You're different…from the very large following of concussed trolls, that is. And I like it."

"I'm not the only one that's different from them."

"No," he agreed, "but you're one of the few that I can carry on a conversation with and not get all funny about it."

"You don't like that?" she asked, surprised.

"What makes you think I did?"

She shrugged, "Just kind of assumed it."

"Those conversations go absolutely nowhere," he said. "To be honest, they're a waste of time. I'd rather be friends with someone that likes me for who I am as a person, not for anything else. I mean, Ron's my best mate…there's Neville too…but no one else past that."

"So you're lonely?" Hermione guessed, curious as to why Harry was telling her this. Most of their previous conversations had been short and snippy, with both of them trying to one-up the other. As it was, such conversations never ended well.

"Not entirely," he said. "I just don't care for the assumptions everyone has that I'm flattered by the very large following of concussed trolls that stalk me around Hogwarts."

"Stalk you?"

"You'd be surprised how many of them try to get inside Prefects' Bathroom when I'm there."

Hermione conjured an image of Harry in the Prefects' Bathroom naked…very naked. Of course, she hadn't ever seen him naked, but his T-shirt and jeans left little to the imagination. She mentally fanned herself.

"Moaning Myrtle included?"

Harry looked at her strangely.

"I overheard the conversation," she said.

"With who?"

"Ron in History of Magic," Hermione replied. "Professor Binns was in the middle of discussing the Gargoyle Strike of 1911 when you felt the need to go on about your girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" Harry repeated, incredulous. "Having a go, are you?"

"Well, you talk about her an awful lot."

"That's because she watches me from the taps! It's an invasion of privacy!"

"Fascinating," Hermione deadpanned, "almost as much as the Gargoyle Strike of 1911. Honestly, how did you get an O.W.L. in History of Magic? You hardly pay attention!"

"Bathilda Bagshot's my neighbor," Harry said. "Comes over for tea and all."

"Does she give you private lessons in the meantime?"

"I don't need private lessons," he laughed, digging into his pocket. "I can read, you know."

"Can you?" Hermione asked, noticing the gold and silver in his hands.

He rolled his eyes and took out of the Prefects' Carriage, in which Hermione thought, _Finally!_ She opened _Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts_ , leafing through its pages until she found where she had left off last night: _Dueling – The Deed Is Not Done Until There's A Body Left To Bury_. However, she was only able to get through half a sentence when a Cauldron Cake landed on the paragraph she'd been reading, blocking the words from view.

"If you don't mind," she said, batting away the Cauldron Cake as if it was infected with Dragon Pox, "I'm trying to finish this before we get to Hogwarts."

Before it could hit the ground, Harry managed to catch it – clearly his Seeker Reflexes were in play even off the Quidditch Pitch – and said, "Don't like Cauldron Cakes? How about a Chocolate Frog…or maybe a Pumpkin Pasty?" and held up the items in question. (As the door of the Prefects' Carriage slid closed, Hermione saw the Trolley Witch making her way down the Hogwarts Express.)

Sighing, she said, "Isn't Ron wondering where you've gone?"

"Doubt it," was his reply. "Lavender's with him."

"Probably checking each other's tonsils then," Hermione muttered.

"Think they're too much?"

"With all the snogging?" she asked. "It's enough to make anyone go round the twist!"

"I know what you mean," Harry said, taking the Cauldron Cake she refused and stuffing the whole thing in his mouth.

_He must be hungry_ , Hermione thought.

"Walked in on them a couple of times."

"Meaning?" she pressed.

"You know…came across Ron and Lavender shagging."

"Where, exactly?" Hermione questioned, horrified, thinking of the many tables in the library that were big enough for them to shag on.

"The Boys' Dormitory," he winced – most likely remembering the last time he'd done so.

"That's utterly repulsive!"

"Everybody does it at some point though, right?" Harry shrugged.

"Including you?" came Hermione. "Or are you on the pull?"

"Jealous?"

"Of who?"

"The concussed trolls you speak so highly of."

"Shagged some of them, have you?"

"I wouldn't," he said. "Holding out for that special someone."

Hermione paused, taken aback by his admission. It was admirable in its own way…if not a little archaic by today's standards. Yet, she was also waiting for that special someone – not minding that fellow Ravenclaws shed their virginities like butterflies shed their cocoons. Eavesdropping on one conversation, she heard that aside from being anything special, the First Time was mediocre at best, leaving many girls unsatisfied that they hadn't experienced a mind-shattering orgasm, or an orgasm at all. ( _It was awkward and uncomfortable…not to mention he was soft! His John Thomas flopped around like a fish out of water!_ )

"Not with Cho?" Hermione asked. "Not with Ginny either?" she thought to add.

"What's it to you?"

"Only curiosity," she replied, trying to be as convincing as possible.

"Only curiosity?" Harry repeated, skeptical. "Sure there isn't any jealousy mixed in?"

Groaning, Hermione said, "This is why I find you insufferable…accusing me of something I'm not!"

"It's the truth, isn't it?"

"Hardly!" she exclaimed wildly.

"Calm down-,"

"I am calm!" Hermione shouted, her _Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts_ book crashing to the floor.

"Here, take this," and Harry threw her a Chocolate Frog. "It'll make you feel better." When he left the Prefects' Carriage, he turned around and said, "See you at the Start-of-Term Feast!"

Ripping open the package – quite ferociously too – Hermione bit off the frog's head, cursing Harry _bloody_ Potter with words that would surprise even her parents.

2

Lily watched Harry from the Staff Table throwing furtive looks over at Hermione, who, in turn, was completely ignoring him (though Lily had a sneaking suspicion that Hermione was all too aware of Harry's presence only a table away – hence why she was pointedly ignoring him in the first place).

Ever since Harry had broken up with Ginny Weasley, he'd been assiduous in winning Hermione's affections…something James was surprised by. ( _A spitfire, that one_ , James said about Ginny once, thumping Harry on the back in a strong show of support for his son's dating preferences – this was after such support was withheld when Harry and Cho Chang had begun dating.) Because it was true that James liked Ginny, thinking she was a perfect match for Harry to take on. And for a while, Harry did take her on…that was until they had had a row after she sat her O.W.L.s. Rumors spread like wildfire over what they had fought over with the one constant amidst an infinite number of variables being that of _Hermione_.

Though she promised herself to stay out of Harry's personal affairs while he was at Hogwarts ( _A conflict of interest is what it is_ , she told herself), Lily had interrogated him when he'd been made Head Boy – only because she knew that Dumbledore had chosen Hermione as Head Girl. ( _There are no two finer students than Mr Potter and Miss Granger for Head Boy and Head Girl responsibilities!_ ) However, the only results her interrogation produced were some mumbling and the shuffling of feet…something that greatly irritated Lily. James, meanwhile, had a little more luck with the questions he had asked, able to discern that Harry's feelings for Hermione had been growing for a long time, undetected by Harry himself. ( _You might be on to something there_ , she told James before they had made love.)

Because their little tug-of-war singlehandedly dismantled a long-standing conflict between Gryffindor House and Slytherin House…a conflict that had been part of Hogwarts since its inception. Sure, the bitterness lingered (particularly with Draco Malfoy, forever accompanied by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle – two people that hadn't been blessed with a brain for either one of them). Instead, Harry and Hermione's feud gained so much traction that it spilled over to their respective Houses: Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. And things only increased in intensity when it came time to award the House Cup to such a degree that Harry and Hermione monopolized class discussions between themselves, hoping the clinch enough points to claim victory (and bragging rights) for House superiority. In fact, Lily spoke with Harry and Hermione after Potions once, urging them to let others participate – something that they hesitantly agreed to. (Of course, their agreement hadn't lasted very long with Harry being the one to violate such an agreement. Outraged, Hermione whipped out her wand, and Lily barely stopped her from casting the Instant Scalping Hex at him. As it was, both received detention for their transgressions.)

_It's been a long time coming_ , James had told her regarding Harry's feelings for Hermione. _Give him time to realize that. He will, eventually.  
_  
Well, no matter the case, Lily was more than inclined to let things come as they did, especially as it pertained to Harry and Hermione. She wasn't one to obsess over Harry's dating preferences, reminding herself that he was only seventeen – he undoubtedly would be interested in girls, whether that be Cho or Ginny or Hermione. It was his life…thus, he was free to do with it whatever he wanted. (Though she might have to stake an intervention if Harry so much as thought of using that ridiculous _book_ – and yes, _book_ was a rather loose term for _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_ – Sirius had gotten him for this birthday. _Might do you some good_ , Sirius had said.)

Lily snorted aloud, drawing the attention of Remus next to her.

"Any problem?" he asked.

"Harry," she said, pointing at him.

He was taking to a rather large piece of Treacle Tart, openly staring at Hermione (and not being covert about it either). He was even ignoring Ron next to him, though this was less of a surprise since his girlfriend, Lavender Brown, was nearly draped over him, giggling like she'd been hit with a Tickling Charm.

"Reminds me so much of James…attracted to the smart and unconventional type."

"Is that what you think of me? Unconventional?"

"You are," Remus said. Then: "So do you think he'll do it…think he'll go after Hermione?"

"He's going to have to try harder than he's had before," Lily said, fully aware of the fact that she was tiptoeing dangerously close to infringing on matters that were sensitive to Harry himself. "Hermione isn't like the others."

"Seems like you're playing favorites."

"Not at all," she shook her head, abandoning her Swiss Roll for the time being.

"You like Hermione, don't you?"

"Certainly," Lily said. "She's quite adept at Potions…even the more difficult ones…but I'm not one to play matchmaker."

"More like an arbitrator then?"

"Have to be considering the likelihood of how intense Potions is going to be with Harry and Hermione trying to earn the most House points in order to win the House Cup."

"Potions?" Remus repeated, laughing as he did. "Try Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

"Why?"

"Because I'm putting together a first-of-its-kind Dueling Tournament for the seventh years," he said. "I'd imagine it'll end with either Harry or Hermione coming out on top."

"Remind me of that, will you?" Lily asked. "I would love to see it."

3

_Dear Binky,_

_It's an absolute travesty how blind Harry is when it comes to Hermione, and how blind Hermione is when it comes to Harry! For all the intelligence they have between them, you'd think that sooner or later, they'd put themselves together and get on with producing a little Harry and a little Hermione of their own! I mean, sure, the hair those poor children will inherit is all problem all on its own (a big problem, actually), but Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and Scalp Treatment isn't hard to come by, is it? Maybe they'll sort themselves out before long as Harry's been taking to Won-Won in the Common Room lately, talking about Hermione. (_ Mental _, is what Won-Won calls her.)_

_Even if she is, I'd prefer her over Romilda Vane. That little tramp is nothing but trouble, trying to get her claws on Harry at every opportunity! Just yesterday, she nearly coerced Won-Won, hoping to get to Harry. (_ Give him these, will you? _and thrust a boxful of Chocolate Cauldrons at him.) I almost lost it when I found them, but Won-Won explained that they were meant for Harry. (He's so thoughtful, Binky!)_

_But I'll tell you this: if I ever happen across Won-Won and Romilda Vane in close company, I'll be using that tramp-like face of hers as target practice for the Dungbomb order I placed at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It's too bad Fred and George are jealous over the fact that Won-Won got more O.W.L.s than they did put together, or else I would've gotten those Dungbombs at a discount. Those things don't come cheap, you know!_

_Sorry for my pissy mood, but Professor Lupin recently started this Dueling Tournament in Defense Against the Dark Arts…and I was eliminated in the first round by Daphne Greengrass all because of a Stinging Hex! (That Slytherin Wench!) Anyway, Won-Won's promised to take me to the Prefects' Bathroom – hopefully he'll massage my arse because that Stinging Hex really hurt! Of course, Won-Won probably plans to snog (He's such a good kisser!), but maybe, if I'm feeling up to it, we'll practice a little baby-making._

_We haven't discussed the matter of children – yet – but I can't imagine he'd want to wait much longer. Sure, we still have to sit our N.E.W.T.s, but I'm positive my parents will be more than happy to look after their first grandchild. And I'm certain Won-Won's parents will do the same. I mean, how could they not? However, seven children is a little too many, and I can't say I fancy having that much! But we'll see what Won-Won thinks of it. Perhaps I'll be able to catch him before bed and ask. Or, perhaps I'll casually bring it up when we're indulging each other in the Prefects' Bathroom!_

_Lots of love,  
Mummy_

4

"We're supposed to be doing rounds!" Hermione said, angry.

"It's near midnight," Harry replied, leading her down the stone corridor – the fires in the torches waved at them as they passed – lined with colorful paintings of food.

"I think we got everyone, don't you?"

"And what if there are other students in the broom cupboards, snogging?"

"Just hormones," he said, stopping in front of the painting that was of a giant bowl of fruit. He reached up and tickled the green pear…it tee-heed and twittered as if it found Harry and Hermione funny…turning into a green door handle afterwards.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"The Kitchens," he responded.

"Why?"

"It's your birthday, isn't it?"

"How'd you know that?" she said with her hands on her hips, looking severe.

"Word gets around," he shrugged. (Truthfully, Sirius was all too happy in telling him such information after consulting Official Ministry Records in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. _She's a keeper_ , he added with a wink.) "C'mon," and he pulled the door open.

Having been to the Kitchens many times before then, the house-elves there mobbed Harry like he was some sort of celebrity, all clamoring for his attention. But it was Dobby he was looking for, and sure enough, Dobby barreled his way to the front of the pack, shoving a couple of house-elves violently out of the way (one of them crashed into a mountain of brass cookware nearby, causing an avalanche).

"Harry Potter!" said Dobby in a high voice, bowing so low that his skinny nose poked the ground.

"Is it ready?"

"Dobby made it all by himself!" he said, excited. He then took away into the horde of house-elves, assaulting them with his bat-like ears.

"Hey, watch it!" one of them yelled, shaking a tiny fist at him.

"What's ready?" Hermione asked, appearing to be more than baffled by the amount of house-elves surrounding them like a rioting crowd would for a burning at the stake.

"I'll show you," Harry said.

On instinct, he took Hermione's hand in his and pulled her forwards, considering the fact that she didn't rip her hand out of his a much-deserved (and much-needed) win. Because it was true that Harry fancied Hermione – longer than he initially realized – and it took a failed relationship with Cho and a failed relationship with Ginny to come to terms with the fact. He didn't know when his feelings for her had changed but assumed it was a process…one that took a long while to make sense of. And even then, his confusion was only exemplified by others, namely Ron, who couldn't for the life of him understand why Harry would go after someone like Hermione. ( _You can do a lot better than the likes of her, can't you?_ Ron asked him in the Great Hall at the Start-of-Term Feast. Harry barely refrained from punching him in the face for comparing Hermione to someone who was far beneath him when she was anything but – and the only reason he didn't punch Ron in the face was that he knew Hermione hated physical violence.)

"Here it is, Harry Potter, here it is!" Dobby exclaimed wildly, bouncing from one foot to the other as if he badly needed the loo.

On a wobbly table, Harry's eyes grew wide as he stared at the Mint Chocolate Chip Cake he had (kindly) asked Dobby to make for Hermione…only instead of it being a single layer that Harry had expected, it was at least one hundred layers…one hundred layers that towered towards the ceiling (which was quite impressive in and of itself since the ceiling was as high as the ceiling was in the Great Hall).

"You did all this?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"Anything for Harry Potter!" Dobby said, proud.

"Well…it's kind of big, don't you think?"

Dobby snapped his fingers and half of the Mint Chocolate Chip Cake – fifty layers of it – instantly disappeared. The only problem was that there were fifty layers left over still. Though Harry wouldn't have complained by any means (due to the fact that he loved Mint Chocolate Chip), he didn't think Hermione would agree with him.

"Could you take off a little more maybe?"

And Dobby did so until all but a single layer remained.

"Perfect…thanks Dobby," Harry said. Turning to Hermione, he gestured with his hands, "Shall we?"

"What're you up to?" she asked, seeming to be a little apprehensive.

"A friendly celebration," he replied, leading her towards the Mint Chocolate Chip Cake.

"Is that all?"

"Why? Did you want it to be more?"

"You've never celebrated my birthday before."

"I don't believe you have either," he said. "I'd imagine Ravenclaws aren't much of a celebratory bunch," and he pulled out a chair for her to sit in.

"Contrary to that absurd belief, we do celebrate when there's a need for it."

"Like?" he urged, taking the chair opposite her.

"Quidditch," was her response.

He scoffed, "Quidditch? Ravenclaw hasn't won the Quidditch Cup in…how long has it been?"

Hermione only pursed her lips at him.

"Speaking of Quidditch, I got you something," and Harry reached into the pocket of his robes, pulling out the gift his Dad had helped him pick out at Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley. ( _If she likes to read, you can't go wrong with a book on Quidditch_ , he had told him.) Handing it over, he said, "For you."

Hermione took it, albeit cautiously as if she expected the book to attack her.

" _Greatest Quidditch Tragedies of the Millennium (includes Attack of the Killer Forest)_ ," she read aloud. She glanced over at him and asked, "What's this?"

"A book for you to read."

"For my birthday?" she guessed.

Harry nodded.

Taken aback, she quickly recovered and said, "Thank you," very quietly, so much so that Harry nearly missed it.

"D'you like it?" he questioned, uncertain. "I know you're not much into Quidditch and all-,"

"Even if it is on Quidditch, it was thoughtful of you to get me anything in the first place."

And believe it or not, Hermione smiled at him…yes, it was brief one, but a smile was a smile, wasn't it?

"How about some cake then?" Harry asked, happy that the night was going far better than he expected it to. After all, it was only yesterday that he had had a nightmare about Dobby botching the Mint Chocolate Chip Cake or Hermione hating _Greatest Quidditch Tragedies of the Millennium (includes Attack of the Killer Forest)_ or Harry, himself, mucking up the planned Goodnight Kiss he had every intention of giving Hermione when all was said and done. It wasn't like he was arrogant about fancying Hermione (unlike how he was when he had fancied Cho and Ginny); in fact, fancying Hermione terrified him more so than anyone (or anything) that'd come before her – only because he was afraid that she'd reject him outright.

Taking the piece he cut for her, Hermione said, "So…Dobby…he made this?"

"He was more than happy to."

"And how do you know Dobby? You've met him before?"

"Used to serve the Malfoys," Harry answered, bitter. "It was only when Malfoy Manor was raided for Dark Artefacts that he was rescued and brought to Hogwarts."

"Rescued?" Hermione repeated. "Does that mean he was he abused?"

"Most house-elves are."

"That's barbaric!" she exclaimed, angry.

"It is," he agreed. "The Minister is working with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to pass the House-Elf Labour and Rights Act through the Wizengamot."

"Well, that'd be the first competent thing Minister Fudge has done."

Harry laughed and asked, "Not a fan?"

"Please," she said with a dismissive hand gesture, taking a bite of the Mint Chocolate Chip Cake.

"Because my Dad told me that Dobby had been placed in the Kitchens, I made it a point to visit whenever I could…you know, checking to see if he was okay and everything."

"And when you visited him, are you sure you didn't sneak any food back to Gryffindor Tower?"

"The house-elves offered!" he defended, unable to help the grin on his face. "I'd imagine they'd take it as an insult if I had refused." He paused here, taking to his own piece of Mint Chocolate Chip Cake – which, by the way, was very good. He then looked over and saw that Hermione was nearly finished with hers, scraping up the icing with her fork. ( _She ate that awfully fast, didn't she?_ he thought to himself.) "Besides, the house-elves are happy doing what they do here," and he pointed at Dobby tending to the brick fireplace that was close by them, humming as he did.

"Maybe some of them are a little too happy," she said, regarding the rowdy group of house-elves towards the back, passing what appeared to be a bottle of Berry Ocky Rot between them. Meanwhile, another house-elf, one that had a sagging belly scraping along the floor, was staggering all around, White Rat Whisky in each hand.

"They deserve to have a little fun, don't you think?"

"Drinking is fun?"

"With the right people it is. When Ron goes on the bender, he's a riot."

"And not otherwise?"

"Lavender occupies most of his time," Harry said. "Too much, if you ask me."

"I thought you'd be a little more supportive of their relationship. Ron's your best mate, isn't he?

"Sure he is," Harry replied, "but Ron and Lavender…they snog like their lives depend on it. It's embarrassing to be with them sometimes, treating me like a third wheel of sorts. I technically am, but still."

"Then why'd you take points from Gryffindor when we caught them snogging in one of the broom cupboards before?"

Laughing, Harry said, "I think they were far past snogging."

"Don't remind me," she said, and visibly shuddered.

"It's only fair that I do. I mean, you took points from Ravenclaw when we caught Michael Corner snogging Lisa Turpin behind the statue of Boris the Bewildered. As Head Boy and Head Girl, we have to be impartial on these kinds of things."

"So you're basically admitting that Ravenclaw will win the House Cup."

"What?"

"Gryffindor has a terrible reputation for snogging one another after hours…that'll lose you a whole bunch of points, giving Ravenclaw the decided victory."

"Might I remind you that Gryffindor has won the House Cup three times in the past six years," Harry inserted.

"Ravenclaw has as well!" Hermione said, bristling. "And Ravenclaw will have won the House Cup four times by the time we sit our N.E.W.T.s!"

"Doubt it," Harry mumbled.

"How dare you!" she replied, standing to her feet so abruptly that she knocked the chair she'd been sitting on backwards – it clattered onto the floor. With a glare, she took out the Kitchens, making the house-elves cower in fear.

"Hermione, wait a minute!" Harry called after her, running to catch up.

_Merlin, I'm not getting that Goodnight Kiss, am I?_


	2. Chapter 2

5

James Potter never wanted to be the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. After all, he wasn't the most proficient man for such a job, and only continued with it because there were Death Eaters still on the loose…and though _hate_ was a strong word to use, James _hated_ the Dark Arts (and he _hated_ those that practiced the Dark Arts). If you asked him what he really wanted to do with his life, well, that was pretty easy to answer: Quidditch. He was a brilliant Chaser, or so he'd been told, and believed he would make a fine addition to any professional Quidditch Team (though he favored Puddlemere United – _Beat back those Bludgers, boys, and chuck that Quaffle here!_ ).

Yet the good witches and wizards of England didn't want him to have anything to do with professional Quidditch (or Quidditch in general for that matter), and this is why they voted him into office as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – of course, this vote was mandated by Minister Fudge himself, incompetent as he was. He accepted the position mainly because it would've been like a slap across the face to those that elected him if he didn't – and he was grateful for the fact that the public had thought to make him the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement even with the little experience he had had in Ministry affairs. He figured he was popular with them – the public – but he wasn't sure why. Lily said it was because witches fancied him, and that might've been true: a majority of them overwhelming voted for him versus his opponent who was a balding wizard nearing the century mark in his life.

So James decided to accept the position as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as a prize that the witches and wizards of England gave him, trying to remain as optimistic as possible when he assumed the role. And in the beginning, it was kind of easy. The trouble came when Lily was offered to be the Potions Mistress at Hogwarts (Horace Slughorn was retiring – _Oh, it's such a shame the Slug Club will be done away with, Albus!_ – choosing Lily as his successor, claiming, _One of my all-time favorites, Lily is!_ ) More trouble came when Harry started Hogwarts, as he was the last thing James tried to cling to before being lost to the void of work – being the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was more than demanding.

And the void of work was what took him: though he went to the Ministry at eight every morning, he was staying later and later and later – five stretched to six, six stretched to seven, seven stretched to eight. James ate breakfast (eggs – fried, obviously – with tea), lunch (the humble cheese sandwich), and dinner (a jacket potato, overflowing with smoky bacon beans) at his desk from Monday to Friday, and hell, sometimes on Saturdays too. Afterwards, Sirius would goad him for a pint at the Leaky Cauldron. ( _It's our favorite pastime!_ he reasoned.) Thus, James found himself stumbling through the door of his cottage in Godric's Hollow close to midnight – only to do the same thing all over again the following day…rinse and repeat. To make matters worse, he hadn't anyone to go home to. It was as empty as the emptiness claimed to be. This was his life – and had been for years now. However, things were changing, especially as it pertained to Harry and Hermione.

After dressing in his pyjamas, James took to his bed, pulling out the Marauder's Map from the bedside table. Pointing his wand at it, he said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Black ink sped across the parchment like the London Underground, mapping everyone (and everything) inside Hogwarts itself. Because Harry had sent a letter to him about Hermione's birthday, James knew exactly where to look for them. And sure enough, Harry and Hermione were in the Kitchens amidst a horde of house-elves, including that of Dobby.

_Mint Chocolate Chip Cake,_ Harry had written. _How does that sound? I'm sure Dobby will be happy to help._

While James liked the idea of Mint Chocolate Chip Cake ( _Anyone who didn't like Mint Chocolate Chip Cake could sod right off…sod right off to Bethlem Royal Hospital in Monks Orchard!_ ), he suggested that Harry bake the cake himself – that is, without Dobby's help.

_It's more meaningful, you know?_ was James' response.

But Harry vetoed the idea, citing Quidditch practice as his excuse.

"Hopefully they're having a good time," James said aloud.

(The emptiness around him didn't bother to answer back.)

For one reason or another, Lily believed that James was an advocate of Harry and Ginny's relationship, supporting them from the sidelines as he was wont to do. However, this simply wasn't true. James knew that the likes of Cho and Ginny were passing infatuations…it was similar to that of Harry enjoying a starter. On the other hand, Hermione was more than a passing infatuation…she was the main course…and Harry was getting awfully hungry.

6

"He wanted a _Goodnight Kiss_ , did he?" Hermione seethed, waving her wand to spell the blue and bronze curtains around her four-poster closed. She needed some privacy, particularly after Lisa Turpin kept huffing angrily from her bed, peeved that Harry and Hermione caught Michael Corner getting ready to give her an Aussie Kiss from behind the statue of Boris the Bewildered. (Poor Boris was almost a spectator of such a ghastly sight!) "I should've hexed that toe rag in the groin!" If she had, Harry's dangly-bits would've been sore for weeks afterwards – not that she cared in the slightest. "At least it would teach him to keep his lips to himself!"

While Harry _bloody_ Potter was insufferable as per usual, he'd been even more so since the Hogwarts Express, entering the Prefects' Carriage without an ounce of respect for his Head Boy responsibilities. ( _However, his grey T-shirt and blue jeans looked decidedly delicious on him, much like the Mint Chocolate Chip Cake was._ ) And from that point on, they continued with their rivalry, trying to best each other in classes. As it stood, Harry paralyzed her in Advanced Arithmancy Studies, Alchemy, Care of Magical Creatures, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and History of Magic (choosing not to continue with Muggle Studies). In the meantime, Hermione rallied in Astronomy, Charms, Herbology, Potions, and the Study of Ancient Runes. (They were practically tied in Transfiguration.)

However, what interested her the most was Professor Lupin's Dueling Tournament in Defense Against the Dark Arts where the winner would win their respective House one hundred points – something that'd give Ravenclaw a distinct lead towards winning the House Cup. Because Hermione was going to win the Dueling Tournament…there was no doubt about that. (Bugger Harry _bloody_ Potter and the rest of the Gryffindors who thought any differently!) And to prove that she was serious about it, she read and reread the _Advanced Against the Dark Arts'_ passage on dueling ( _Dueling – The Deed Is Not Done Until There's A Body Left To Bury_ ). Also, she borrowed every book the Hogwarts Library had on the topic, antagonizing Madam Pince in the process.

The only problem was that Harry was better than her at Defense Against the Dark Arts – he always had been. There was a natural skill about him…and Hermione envied him for it, terribly too. And because everyone else believed the same thing (including that of Professor Lupin), they expected Harry to win the Dueling Tournament (and more importantly, win one hundred House points for Gryffindor). Well, she couldn't have that…absolutely not! That was why she had to beat him…that was why she needed to beat him…that was why she wanted to beat him. Thus, she'd prove those idiotic Gryffindors wrong!

Hearing Lisa Turpin's whispers from across the dormitory – probably castrating Harry and Hermione for daring to interrupt a private encounter with Michael Corner – she groaned, grabbing the book closest to her. It turned out to be _Greatest Quidditch Tragedies of the Millennium (includes Attack of the Killer Forest)._ It should go without saying that Hermione hadn't expected a birthday present…hell, she hadn't expected a Mint Chocolate Chip Cake! But if she was to be honest with herself, she appreciated it all the same. And yes…even though Hermione didn't like Quidditch, a book was a book, one that was meant to be read (even if it was from Harry _bloody_ Potter). So after conjuring half a dozen candles that floated around her, Hermione leaned back against her pillows and began to read.

* * *

"Mind if I join you?"

Hermione looked up from her essay on Golpalott's Third Law – an assignment given to them by the Alchemy Professor, Phillipus Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim, or Professor Paracelsus for short – to see Harry staring at her expectantly.

"What for?"

"I have something," he said, sitting down across from her. Reaching into his bag, he continued, "I didn't see you in the Great Hall so I thought you could use something to eat," and pulled out a Shepherd's Pie with tzatziki. "Dobby sends his regards."

Glancing over her shoulder, she whispered, "Better be careful…Madam Pince will have kittens if she sees that there's food in the library." (Although Hermione hadn't seen her, she noticed that there were several gaps between the books on the numerous shelves where Madam Pince's vulture-like presence had lurked before…unbeknownst to Hermione at the time.)

"It's not me that needs to be careful, it's you," Harry said, pushing the Shepherd's Pie towards her. (The dish slid across the table noiselessly.)

"Mine?"

"Yours," Harry nodded.

Confused, Hermione asked, "And this is-,"

"Dinner," he replied. "You missed it, didn't you?"

"I had to finish Professor Paracelsus' essay for Alchemy," she said.

"Need any help?"

Hermione scoffed, "I think I can manage."

"Suit yourself," Harry shrugged, loosening the tie that was lassoed around his neck.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" she asked, waving her quill in the air for emphasis. (She tried to ignore the fact that the end of his tie was like an arrow pointing down to his John Thomas, making her wonder if it flopped around like a fish out of water.)

"Not really," he said, nonchalant.

"You don't have Quidditch practice?"

"Fancy seeing me out there?" grinned Harry.

Hermione only glared at him.

"Speaking of Quidditch, how do you like _Greatest Quidditch Tragedies of the Millennium_ I got you for your birthday?" He then added: "Assuming you didn't bin it, of course."

"As a matter of fact, I think it's fascinating."

Harry paused with a frown on his face, seeming as if he was trying to determine if she was having a go at him.

"Seriously?" he asked, skeptical.

"I'm surprised too," she said, setting down her quill. (She figured Golpalott's Third Law could wait.) "But those things in _Greatest Quidditch Tragedies of the Millennium_ didn't really happen, did they?"

"Which ones?" Harry asked, leaning back in his chair so that the two front legs came off the ground.

"How about the 1473 Quidditch World Cup?"

"Between Flanders and Transylvania," Harry nodded. "Definitely the most violent Quidditch World Cup of all time."

"So it's true that all seven hundred known fouls were committed?" Hermione asked.

"Including fouls that hadn't been seen before…like the attempted decapitation of one of the Keepers with a broadsword…transfiguring one of the Chasers into a polecat…and when the Transylvanian Captain released one hundred blood-sucking vampires from under his Quidditch Robes."

"That's mad!" Hermione exclaimed, trying her best to ignore the fact that Harry had taken off his tie (he discarded it on the table between them like a boundary of sorts) and undid the first button of his shirt – Hermione thought she saw a small bush of chest hair sprouting there like flowers in spring.

"Not as much as the Attack of the Killer Forest."

"Is it true that Niko Nenad had that much of a temper?"

"You're on about a bloke that beat himself over the head with his own broomstick and set his own feet on fire whenever he was frustrated. Not to mention, he nearly strangled several referees leading to the Quidditch World Cup."

"1809, was it…between New Spain and Romania?"

"Being that Niko Nenad was one of the Beaters for the Romanian National Quidditch Team, he purposefully hit a Bludger out of the stadium and into a forest on the edge of the West Siberian Plain. It's thought that he paid local Dark Wizards to help him if Romania was losing – which they were. The trees came to life and attacked the stadium, killing several people, including Niko Nenad himself."

"He was trampled to death by a violent Spruce," Hermione said.

"It isn't hard to believe that something up here," and Harry used his finger to ring his temple in small loops, "wasn't quite right."

"What about the Tournament that Nobody Remembers?"

Smiling, he said, "Even though the 1877 Quidditch World Cup was supposed to be held in the Ryn Desert in Kazakhstan, there isn't any recollection of it taking place, hence its name – the Tournament that Nobody Remembers. Yet, one of England's Beaters, Lucas Bargeworthy, was missing all of his teeth…Canada's Seeker, Angelus Peel, found that his knees were on backwards...and the Argentinian team were found tied up together in the basement of some pub in Cardiff."

"Any idea what happened?"

"There are a few theories," he began, his eyes roaming to the side as if he sensed Madam Pince scurrying over to them. "The first is that there was a breakout of Cerebrumous Spattergroit-,"

"One that causes confusion and memory loss," Hermione inserted knowingly.

"You thinking about becoming a Healer at St Mungo's?" Harry asked.

"I don't believe that's any of your business," she snapped.

Chuckling, he went on with, "The second is that the Goblin Liberation Front cast a Mass Memory Charm, making everyone forget about the Quidditch World Cup in the first place."

"Matches up," Hermione said. "The Goblin Liberation Front was active in the 1870s, even being able to attract anarchist witches and wizards." And after a pause: "Surely you don't need me to tell you this, considering Professor Binns has gone on about the Goblin Liberation Front before," and she smiled at him, one that didn't reach her eyes.

"Well, I did get an O.W.L. in History of Magic," he said to her.

"Only with the help of Bathilda Bagshot," Hermione responded, conjuring a fork so that she could start on her Shepherd's Pie – she was hungry, after all.

"Have you read about the 1974 Quidditch World Cup yet?" he asked.

"No," she shook her head. "What happened?"

"Royston Idlewind was one of the Chasers for the Australian National Quidditch Team, and was one of the reasons why Australia won the Quidditch World Cup in 1966. But during his time playing Quidditch, he was hit with hundreds of jinxes from witches and wizards."

"Bad ones?" Hermione interrupted.

"Nothing serious," Harry said. "The Broom Jinx, Impediment Jinx, and Sea Urchin Jinx were the most common. Because of this, he hated large crowds, claiming that crowds were the one thing he didn't like about Quidditch. As you can guess, he didn't receive much sympathy, more so when he was appointed as the International Director of the ICWQC in 1971."

"ICWQC?"

"International Confederation of Wizards Quidditch Committee," Harry said, also conjuring a fork so that he could help himself to the Shepherd's Pie. (She thought about smacking his hand away, but ultimately decided against it – at least he was nice enough to get her Shepherd's Pie the first place.) "As International Director of the ICWQC, Royston Idlewind passed regulations to try and manage crowd control, regulations that many thought were draconian."

"Like?"

"The most severe was the banning of all wands at the Quidditch World Cup except those of ICWQC officials. Fans weren't too happy about the ban and threatened to boycott the 1974 Quidditch World Cup. However, they soon realized that empty stadiums were exactly what Royston Idlewind wanted, and because they didn't want him be victorious by any means, they decided on something else."

"What was it?" Hermione asked, surprised that she was so interested, reckoning that it was as good as Attack of the Killer Forest (for she had found that bit of history a little too gory for her liking).

"The Dissimulator," he said.

"You mean the instrument?"

"Heard of it before?"

"Of course," she nodded. "It's made of multicolored tubes, emitting loud cheers and puffs of smoke in national colors."

"That's why they used at the 1974 Quidditch World Cup," Harry said, "played by Madagascar and Syria. There were three hundred thousand people there and all of them had Dissimulators. When Royston Idlewind appeared in the Top Box, the Dissimulators blared raspberries before turning into the wands everyone had transfigured before entering the stadium. Humiliated, Royston Idlewind resigned on the spot, with Syria eventually winning the Quidditch World Cup."

"So has he retired?"

"I think so," Harry replied, licking his lips. "However, he tried making a case for himself during the 1990 Quidditch World Cup. Apparently, after Canada and Scotland played for five days, the crowd was getting a little restless. The ICWQC nearly had a riot on their hands, in which Royston Idlewind said, ' _A wand ban doesn't look so stupid now, does it?_ '" Shortly after, Harry added, "The prat."

"The 1990 Quidditch World Cup…didn't the Seeker for the Scottish National Quidditch Team-,"

"Hector Lamont," Harry said.

"-blame his Dad for not giving him longer fingers? And that if he did have longer fingers, he would've caught the Golden Snitch before the Seeker for the Canadian National Quidditch Team?"

"Nice chap, isn't he?"

Unable to help herself, Hermione laughed as she finished the Shepherd's Pie (doing her best to defend it against Harry and his fork). And when she was done with it, the plate disappeared into thin air – presumably down to the Kitchens.

"You seem to know a lot about Quidditch," Hermione said.

"Kind of hoping to play professionally."

"Really?"

"Surprised, are you?"

"I thought you'd enroll in the Auror Training Programme."

"And why's that?"

"Because you're pretty good at Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Harry threw his head back and laughed loudly – as if on cue, Madam Pince sprinted towards them, surprising Hermione at how fast she moved for a woman her age.

"What is the meaning of such mischief?" she demanded, angry. The way she hovered over the table made her more vulture-like than ever. "I would've expected better from the Head Boy and Head Girl! Perhaps Headmaster Dumbledore shall hear about this!" She then stalked away from them, running over a first year who wanted to check out a book (the poor boy was catapulted against one of the shelves, making the books there wobble precariously).

"Need I remind you that I'm the best in our year at Defense Against the Dark Arts," Harry said, giving no indication that Madam Pince's threat of yapping to Headmaster Dumbledore affected him any.

"And how do we know that Professor Lupin is fair?" Hermione asked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry replied, his eyes narrowed.

"It means whatever you want it to! Gryffindors are all the same!"

Harry stared over at her, and because he did, Hermione was lost in his bright green eyes. They were so…ethereal to her, like an extraterrestrial affair. She imagined that if the Ministry had had a Department that focused on magic existing beyond Earth's orbit, Harry's bright green eyes would fall under heavy scrutiny. Quite frankly, she didn't know if Harry, himself, knew how powerful his bright green eyes were when he thought to use them – it was unnerving.

"You seem a little stressed about the Dueling Tournament," Harry said.

"Please," she scoffed. "I'm going to win that silly little thing easily."

"And if you don't?"

"Don't worry," she said, meaning to return to her essay on Golpalott's Third Law, "I will."

7

_Dear Binky,_

_It's an absolute travesty that my baby-making plans have been put on hold! Won-Won is positively knackered from any and all things Quidditch…though it hasn't been for naught: Gryffindor clobbered Slytherin in the first match of the season. (Take that Daphne Greengrass, you Slytherin Wench!)_ _Meanwhile, everyone's gone a bit loopy worrying about N.E.W.T.s – even if it's months away still! Of course, Won-Won isn't concerned about those ridiculous examinations as it's pretty clear his future lies outside of academia. Instead, I'm sure he'll be chosen as Keeper for the Chudley Cannons right out of Hogwarts. (He's such a fantastic player, Binky, that I wish you could've seen him!) Even then, I'm happy that Won-Won has chosen Quidditch as something he'd like to pursue – the pay is ace. But don't mistake me for being one of those Galleon-Diggers! I most certainly am not!_

_And speaking of Galleons, I might be depositing a good amount of them into my vault at Gringotts very soon. You see, there's a bet taking place on when Harry and Hermione will pull their heads out of their arses, coming to terms with the fact that they fancy each other. I don't think it'll happen before Christmas – they're moving way too slowly for that – but sometime after seems all the more likely. (Maybe Valentine's Day?) Yet, Won-Won is in denial about the whole thing, refusing to believe that Harry would settle for one bird when he could have many birds. (That's why he thinks Harry and Ginny broke up in the first place, claiming Ginny is as jealous as they come!) But he might be onto something there, considering that Harry has a large following of silly girls that dog him all around Hogwarts – and yes, Binky, Romilda Vane (the little tramp that she is), usually leads the pack. I've seen her pushing her chest forward, making her breasts jiggle up and down like they were made of jelly. I mean, the audacity of her!_

_Still, Romilda Vane is fighting nothing but a losing battle because Harry only has eyes for Hermione – something Hermione, herself, is completely blind to. What's funny is that when I went to Madam Pomfrey for the Fecundity Potion (she was more than hesitant to provide me with it), she insisted that I should be focusing more on N.E.W.T.s...like Hermione! Was she taking the piss or what? If Hermione was as smart as Madam Pomfrey alleges, then a relationship with Harry would've already happened! Seriously, how many hints does Harry have to give Hermione to indicate that he's interested in her? Past that, there's Professor Lupin's Dueling Tournament to worry about, as it seems like Harry and Hermione will be competing for the one hundred House points available to the winner – of which, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw are currently tied for the House Cup. As it is, I might have to force a situation involving Harry and Hermione – I have a lot of Galleons at stake!_

_Lots of love,  
Mummy_

8

Even though Hermione bested him when it came to Potions, Harry was certainly no slouch at it either. (How could he be when his Mum when was the Potions Mistress?) Today, they were brewing Felix Felicis – the last before the Christmas holiday. ( _Also known as Liquid Luck, Felix Felicis was invented by Zygmunt Budge in the sixteenth century, referring to it as the crowning achievement of his career. When brewed correctly, the drinker of Felix Felicis will be lucky in all of his or her endeavors…while excessive consumption of it is highly toxic, possibly causing extreme recklessness_ , recited Hermione at the beginning of class, earning Ravenclaw ten points.)

Harry was sharing a work station with Ron and Neville as per usual, adding an Ashwinder Egg to his cauldron ( _That's too much horseradish,_ he said to Ron), turning up the heat thereafter. He waited for a bit, letting his eyes roam around the Dungeon, and found Hermione close by. She was bent over her cauldron as if she was praying to it. They hadn't spoken much since _Greatest Quidditch Tragedies of the Millennium_ discussion in the Library – something that disappointed Harry considering that that was a month ago – but they were quite busy on their own. Because of N.E.W.T.s, there were an infinite number of essays to write:

_Ancient Egyptian Theories of Numerology_ – Advanced Arithmancy Studies  
 _Golpalott's Third Law_ – Alchemy  
 _Dark Cloud Constellations_ – Astronomy  
 _Why the Yeti is Hard to Keep Hidden from Muggles_ – Care of Magical Creatures  
 _The Fidelius Charm_ – Charms  
 _Banishing the Banshee_ – Defense Against the Dark Arts  
 _Properties of the_ _Sneezewort_ – Herbology  
 _Emeric the Evil_ – History of Magic  
 _The Limitations of Felix Felicis_ – Potions  
 _The Usefulness of Hieroglyphs and Logograms_ – Study of Ancient Runes  
 _Complexities with the Four Branches of Transfiguration_ – Transfiguration

Also, aside from their duties as Head Boy and Head Girl, Harry was the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team while Hermione was the Leader of the Astronomy Club, Charms Club, Potions Club, and Transfiguration Club. Clearly, they had exhausted their time with personal interests so much that Harry hadn't the opportunity to ask Hermione to accompany him to Hogsmeade (as his date, of course). Not helping matters was Ron taking the mickey out of him whenever he could – and this was done as he plunged his tongue down Lavender's throat in a lewd manner as any. It was disgusting to watch, and made even more disgusting when Harry realized that he couldn't do the same with Hermione (because he wanted to…and badly).

"I can't say you're doing yourself any favors by staring," Neville told him quietly.

Dejected, Harry replied, "Pretty sure she hates me anyway." He then juiced a Squill Bulb, vigorously stirring its contents around his cauldron like a maelstrom.

Neville shook his head, "She doesn't."

"How d'you know?" Harry said, louder than he intended. (Because of this, his Mum looked at him pointedly.)

"Because," Neville continued in a whisper, "Hermione hates people like Malfoy. You've seen the way she treats him-,"

"Pretends he doesn't exist," Harry inserted.

"But she doesn't do the same to you, does she?"

"No," Harry responded, chopping up the tentacles taken from the back of a Murtlap and tossing them in his cauldron. As the potion _hissed_ , _sizzled_ , and _whooshed_ , Harry put in a tincture of thyme, stirring slowly. "You reckon she'd go to Hogsmeade with me?"

"Depends," Neville shrugged, "although I wouldn't chance it with Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop."

"Because of Cho and Ginny, I would go anywhere near that place."

"Took both of them, did you?"

"I assumed it would've been good enough for Valentine's Day," Harry replied, grinding an Occamy Eggshell. As he sprinkled the remains into his cauldron, he glanced over his shoulder and saw that Hermione was at the exact same stage he was. As a matter of fact, they seemed to be the only ones that had progressed the farthest (which shouldn't be too much of a surprise, if it was a surprise at all).

"You know, I'm kind of amused that you're so taken with Hermione. I didn't think she was your type."

"My type?" Harry repeated. "And what's that, exactly?"

"Athletic birds…mainly ones that play Quidditch."

"Well, at least she likes Quidditch."

"Does she?"

"Of course," Harry nodded, smiling a little. "I got her _Greatest Quidditch Tragedies of the Millennium (includes Attack of the Killer Forest)_ for her birthday – and we had a great discussion about it in the Library."

"To be fair, _Greatest Quidditch Tragedies of the Millennium_ is pretty interesting," Neville said.

"Still, it's not like I forced her to read it," and Harry sprinkled powdered common rue into his cauldron.

"You hoping she'll be cheering for Gryffindor to win the Quidditch Cup?"

Harry laughed, "I think I'll have an easier time trying to convince her to intentionally throw the Dueling Tournament in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Afraid you'll lose?"

"Not at all," Harry said. "I'm going to win – and there isn't any possibility that I won't."

Waving his wand, Harry finished brewing Felix Felicis, pouring some of it into a vial for grading (of which, he was sure he'd get a perfect score – or as close to a perfect score as he was able). He then vanished what remained in his cauldron for one wasn't able to drink Felix Felicis and feel its full effects until it was left stewing for six months. This disappointed him as he would've had no trouble downing a drop here or there when it came to Hermione (who was packing up her things, having already finished brewing Felix Felicis herself).

Resolving to ask her about Hogsmeade before the Christmas holiday, Harry threw his bag over his shoulder when the bell rang, accidentally smacking Ron's face with it. ( _Watch where you're swinging that thing!_ he snarled.) Harry barely heard him…instead, he hurried after Hermione into the corridor. She might've been trying to evade him like a predator and its prey, trampling over those who happened to be moving too slowly for her liking. However, Harry's long legs easily caught to her before she could escape the Dungeons.

"Can I help you?" she huffed, clutching her copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ against her chest.

"There's something I wanted to ask you," he said, waiting until they were alone lest he inadvertently attracted a crowd – something he wished to avoid just in case Hermione rejected him. (If she did, he'd spend Christmas licking his wounds, trying to repair the damage to his ego she caused.)

"Get on with it then."

A horde of red paper lanterns was jumbled together above them, and before he could suggest the idea of going to Hogsmeade together, they scattered apart like a swarm of ladybugs. To Harry's annoyance (and horror), Peeves appeared, his mischievous smile growing at the sight of them.

"Potty and Hermy!" he heckled, laughing – and the bells on his hat jingled as if they were laughing too.

"What're you doing up there?" Hermione asked, suspicious. "Lurking and all?"

"Not doing nothing," Peeves replied, straightening the orange bow tie he was wearing. "The real question is what are _you_ doing?" and his eyes swiveled between Harry and Hermione so fast that Harry thought Peeves had gone cross-eyed.

"That's none of your business," Harry said.

"It's none of my business, you say?" And before long, Peeves started, "Rock-a-bye baby, thy cradle is green…Potty's a knobhead and Hermy's-,"

Before he could finish, Harry cast the Tongue-Tying Curse at him. Peeves suddenly stopped his singing (which was horribly off-key) and grabbed at this throat. He then dashed away, though not before flicking the V at them.

"Bloody Poltergeist," Harry mumbled, watching him go.

"At one time, you were almost as bad as he was," Hermione commented.

Turning to look at her, he repeated, "At one time?"

"Hard as it is to believe, I find you to be more tolerable than before."

Elated, he asked, "Would this have anything to do with _Greatest Quidditch Tragedies of the Millennium_?"

"Maybe," she shrugged. "But that's part of the problem."

"Problem?"

"It'd only be fair if I got you something back," she said.

" _Greatest Quidditch Tragedies of the Millennium_ was a birthday present," and he waved his hand in the air as if it didn't matter – because truthfully, it didn't.

"And yours isn't until July."

_How does she know when my birthday is?_ Harry mentally wondered.

"By then, we'll be finished with Hogwarts," she continued.

"Well," Harry said, amazed that his plan was coming together so perfectly (given the fact that he didn't have much of a plan to begin with), "how about going to Hogsmeade with me?" He then added: "Next term, that is."

"Hogsmeade…with you?"

"Don't want to?" he asked nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

Tunneling the tip of her shoe against the floor like she was trying to put out a Muggle cigarette, Hermione said, "What'd you have in mind?"

"Is that a _yes_?" (Harry almost wanted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.)

She nodded, "Only to make amends for _Greatest Quidditch Tragedies of the Millennium_."

"There's this place my Dad told me about. I think we should go."

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"You'll find out after Christmas," Harry said, and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone was wondering, Binky is the name of Lavender's pet rabbit that was killed by a fox in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. She writes to him as a diary of sorts. I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading.


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